


But Watch the Queen Conquer

by whenthesunhasset



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, myrcella's not a bastard au, queens of the realm au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:32:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1792246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenthesunhasset/pseuds/whenthesunhasset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Didn't you ever wonder why you looked so different from your brothers, sweetling?"</p><p>The question is asked in a soothing tone, yet a confused one, and Myrcella finds herself unsure of the answer. Of course she'd questioned it, questioned why her siblings had the Lannister look while her appearance was so wholly Baratheon, but those were the musings of a child. She had always assumed she merely took after her father more than her siblings did. The idea that Joffrey and her beloved Tommen were bastards had never once crossed her mind.</p><p>Realization hit her like an arrow to the chest.</p><p>"Then I am Robert's true heir."</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Watch the Queen Conquer

"Didn't you ever wonder why you looked so different from your brothers, sweetling?"

The question is asked in a soothing tone, yet a confused one, and Myrcella finds herself unsure of the answer. Of course she'd questioned it, questioned why her siblings had the Lannister look while her appearance was so wholly Baratheon, but those were the musings of a child. She had always assumed she merely took after her father moreso. The idea that Joffrey and her beloved Tommen were bastards had never once crossed her mind.

Realization hit her like an arrow to the chest.

"Then I am Robert's true heir."

"Aye, your grace. You are."

...

Ravens came and went at an alarming rate in the months that came after. She knew she had to choose her allies carefully, choose who she could trust and who would be least likely to betray her plans to her family. Enough time had been spent in the company of Prince Doran that it was no trouble, and with Arianne never leaving her side, the task seemed less daunting than it otherwise might.

As correspondence continued between Myrcella and leaders of the realm, Joffrey's rule grew more vicious, his subjects only growing in their unease. It seemed as if their war may end before it had a chance to truly begin.

...

Shireen Baratheon was sitting by the hearth, enjoying what little warmth could be found as winter had begun to make its presence known, when the servant found her.

"You have word from your cousin, your grace."

"I have no cousin," she responded, not shifting her gaze from the raging fire in front of her. Ever since her father had perished-- in battle, she was assured, like a true king-- she had taken over his throne, his armies. It did not due to dwell on the fact that she had had more success in her short reign than he had during his. Despite her scarring, she was more likable, much more likable. Her uncle Renly had been right, it seemed. It did well to be liked.

"It appears you do, actually," a gruff voice responded.

Startled, she turned, meeting the eyes of her father's greatest ally and friend, and her hand of the queen. "Explain yourself, Lord Davos," she commanded, rising and reaching for the letter.

"See for yourself," he said, gesturing towards the parchment she held.

Eyes scanning quickly over elegant writing before her, Shireen felt her heart quicken inside her chest. 

"It appears Myrcella is offering me a kingdom in exchange for an army," she murmured, rereading the letter. It couldn't be true, how could it be true?

"But she is a bastard. You are the true Queen, Stannis's heir." His tone was as confused as her thoughts.

"It would seem my father was wrong." Once again meeting her hand's eyes, a smile tugged at the healthy part of her face. "Prepare the army. We march for Storm's End in two days time."

...

It's been so long since Sansa has received any ravens from outside the North that, for a moment, she does not know what to do with the letter that is placed in her hands. She gets over her hesitation quickly. Flipping it over and examining the seal, she nearly drops the letter.

At the nod of assurance from the Maester standing before her ornately carved writing table, she peels it open, taking more pride than perhaps is necessary as she breaks the Lannister red seal with the crowned stag neatly in half.

The letter is not from who she'd thought.

"Myrcella?" she gasps, more to herself than to the people within the room.

Everyone snaps to attention at the name. The air is quickly filled with the sound of voices whispering over each other, until Sansa raises her hand to silence them all. She is still shocked when they listen to her without question, without hesitation, and silence fills the room once more.

Turning to Arya, and to her few trusted advisers, a calm smile settles onto the Winter Queen's face. "It seems Robert Baratheon's heir would like our assistance."

"You cannot seriously be considering siding with those soulless lion bastards," Arya's exclamation echoes the expressions of everyone in the room.

"I'm not," she responds, her aura of serenity never wavering. "I have decided to side with Myrcella Baratheon, who, it turns out, is not one of _those soulless lion bastards_ , as you so elegantly put it." If anyone is surprised by the queen's vulgarity, they are smart enough not to voice it. Arya looks as if she's about to argue, but a harsh look from Sansa silences her. 

"Send ravens to all the major Lords and Ladies. We march for Storm's End as soon as possible." Without any further explanation, Sansa turns and exits the room, heading towards the old weirwood with Arya hot on her heels.

"What do we get from helping her? I know she was your friend or whatever she was back in King's Landing, but that was years ago, Sansa. What does the North want from some Southern claimant?"

"Why did I ever make you Lady Commander? All you do is question me," Sansa muses with no real malice in her tone. Reaching her destination, she turns towards her sister, towards all that remains of her family, and the first true smile of the day lights up her face. "I want peace, Arya. All I've ever wanted is peace. Myrcella is offering that. She's already allied herself with Shireen Baratheon, she says, and Dorne seems to be with her as well."

"That still doesn't answer my question. What's in it for us? Other than peace, why go to war for her?"

Sansa's smile only grows. "Why, she's giving me what I've been fighting for already. She's giving me the North."

It takes only a moment for her words to sink in, and then Arya's smile is as bright as her own. "So, you really think we have a chance?"

...

When Asha hears from an informant of the former princess's claim to the throne, it is she that offers her aide. Word has it the Baratheon's promising kingdoms for support, and, as much of a fighter as she is, even Asha can admit some peace is long overdue.

So she sends a raven, promising her ships and her best men and women, in exchange for the Iron Islands.

The response is everything she hoped for.

Within a fortnight, the fleet is out in open waters, on a direct path to Storm's End. 

...

Myrcella Baratheon looks every bit the queen she soon will be as she walks into the chambers and takes in the various queens and their trusted men and women. In the souls of everyone in the room, a spark of hope is lit. They can win this war, it whispers in their ears. They can take what is rightfully theirs.

Hot on her tail comes Arianna Martell and the Sand Snakes, and murmurs of unease from some of the gathered begin to fill the air. Together, the girls demand to be looked at, demand to be respected. A look of readiness is in Myrcella's eyes, and a glance towards her dear friends and allies behind her assures that they are just as prepared as she. The leaders, her peers, gathered around the table may take some more convincing. 

And so she goes to work convincing them.

When she is finished, there is a moment of silence. They have all heard of the little blonde princess's charisma, of her ability to sway even the most opposed to her favor; one of the many traits she possesses that would have done her mother well. This is not the charisma of a girl, though, a princess prepared to marry the man of her father's choosing. This is the passion of a queen ready to take back what has been stolen from her. It is the voice of a leader.

"The North will join you," young Arya Stark is says, the first one to talk. The Queen in the North, Sansa Stark, the beautiful girl who was like a sister once, back when they both lived in fear of the monster that called himself her brother, shoots her Lady Commander a fierce look. Arya seems unfazed. "What? You were going to say so yourself, you just didn't want to be the first to speak."

With a sigh and a faint smile, Sansa meets Myrcella's eyes. "She is right. I promise you the forces of the North in exchange for my lands, free of the Iron Throne."

Her words open a floodgate, and soon everyone else is speaking over each other, assuring her of their loyalty and their armies. This time, she doesn't have to look back to know the Dornish women behind her are mirroring her expression.

..

It is late at night, but Myrcella finds herself unable to sleep. Storm's End is too cold for her, after spending so many long years in the fiery heat of Dorne, the only place left in the kingdoms to not feel the sweet kiss of winter. So she walks, recommitting the walls she has not seen since her childhood, since her father was alive and her Uncle Renly ruled the castle. There are times where she closes her eyes and she can see it all so clearly once more in her memory, but this is not one of them. Years have passed since she was eight years old and still naive, still so blind to the ways of the world. She is eight and ten now, she has seen to much to indulge herself in the silly dreams of youth. She has lost a father, two uncles, countless friends, and a husband, after all; it is hard to view things kindly in such a light.

Behind her, footsteps are heard, coming near her at a pace just faster than her own. Hand immediately traveling to the knife hidden below her skirts, on her thigh, Myrcella whipped around, prepared to defend herself from whoever else is lurking the castle at this hour.

Instead she sees Arya Stark, dressed in her nightclothes yet with her sword still hanging from her hips. A breath she had not realized she was holding leaves her lips, and she smiles a warm smile at the girl, and decides it best not to mention the fright she gave her. "Having trouble sleeping, my lady?"

Arya laughs a warm, guttural laugh; a knight's laugh. "I find it to be too warm here, your grace. This weather is what we call summer in the North, I find I am not used to it," she responds, but Myrcella is intuitive enough to know there's more to it. For a minute, she thinks on how much the Starks have lost, how much family they have buried in their crypt, and she almost finds herself pitying them. That thought leaves her as soon as it comes; she is dealing with wolves, and wolves do not want or need her pity. 

"Is that really it?" She asks, her expression plainly saying she is done with the small talk.

"No," the younger girl admits, "but I was hoping we could walk some before I brought it up."

"What is it?"

"When we take King's Landing, what do you plan to do with your family?"

Myrcella's step falters ever so slightly, so slightly she hopes her companion does not notice. "Whatever I see fit," she responds, her voice slipping into a cool and carefully controlled tone. It's a sore spot, her family; despite all they've done to her and her allies, can she really turn herself into a kinslayer? Like it or not, they are her blood. How can she pass a sentence on her own mother or uncles? On her brothers? "Tommen will be pardoned," she blurts out, against her better judgement.

"And what about Joffrey?"

A faint smile breaks through her cool mask. Ah. So this is what the Lady Stark wanted to discuss. "You wish to be the one to kill him," she guessed.

When Myrcella looks over, Arya's gaze is firmly focused on the ground. It's not like her to be embarrassed, or ashamed, even of such vulgar ideas. But Arya has lost a brother, she knows the bitter sting of loss. Though Robb and Brandon or Rickon are not Joffrey, did not possess the same capacity for cruel and vile deeds like her brother did, she knows the Stark girl must be thinking upon her own brothers, her own losses, dead at the hands of Lannisters. Eventually, she looks up and nods. With a sigh, Myrcella turns her gaze to where they are walking, and is surprised to see how far they have gone in what feels like such a short time.

"I make no promises. But if you were to come against him in battle, I would not stop you from slitting his throat," she asks, and wonders when she got to the point where she could talk of her family's death so plainly.

...

Within the year, their combined armies have taken the throne. They have won. They are at peace.

Joffrey falls at the blade of Arya Stark, in the final battle that painted the castle red with blood. Revenge has never felt so good, she insists.

Margaery Tyrell is pardoned alongside little Tommen, her baby brother who only wanted to do good and play with his kittens when they were little. Cersei, Tywin, and Jaime are not so lucky. Myrcella is not there when they die. She does not care if it makes her look weak, she would not be able to stomach it; there is no weakness in having a good heart, a heart that still mourns even the wicked. A dozen other knights and nobleman die alongside them, men she knew for years, men that later went on to commit horrible crimes. No one ever sees her weep for them.

The only scandal to arise occurs when she names the Lady Tyrell as her Hand of the Queen. Her cousin questions it, the Starks give her looks of confusions, but Arianne and her cousins only smirk. Who did they believe she was getting her inside information from, if not Joffrey's shrewd and intelligent bride?

It has been years, so many years, since the realm has seen peace. Myrcella hopes it can last.

Above all else, she hopes the rumors of the true Targaryen Queen and her dragons are just myths told by travelers. Another war would tear the realm apart.

**Author's Note:**

> this is all the result of a post i made that can be found over on my tumblr ((wwinterbucky) under the tag myrcella baratheon
> 
> there's probably a way to link things in the notes but i've yet to figure that out sorry


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